


turn and face the strange

by the bloodsucking brady bunch (Ejunkiet)



Series: deviance from an absolute [3]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Brotherhood, Character Study, Dysfunctional Family, Elijah's perspective, Gen, The Mikaelsons through the centuries and how time changes them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 00:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15303573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/the%20bloodsucking%20brady%20bunch
Summary: Elijah remembers Klaus as he once was. An artist who painted in blue, who crushed precious stones and metals alike to capture the piercing blue of a lover’s eye, the dusky cobalt that stained the heavens at dusk. A man who loved the world with a ferocity that could barely be contained.Elijah would seek him out in the early hours of the evening and find him painting. Golden ringlets at the nape of his neck, smears of cerulean on his cheek, a smile would tease at his lips as he glanced up from the canvas and replied, “art, like love, cannot be rushed, brother.”





	turn and face the strange

**Author's Note:**

> Another stand-alone introspective of the Mikaelson's set in the same 'verse as deviance. This is set during season one of the Originals, but doesn't reference any event in particular.

Over the years, Elijah watches his brother change. They all change, of course; eroded by the passage of time until they're a little more jaded, a little more ruthless, a little more cruel. But some things don't change. Rebekah still loves, although it leads to heartbreak more times than not. Klaus never stops trying to prove himself to the world; to his family; to himself.

\--

The Mikaelsons are broken after New Orleans.

Elijah leaves. Rebekah stays, despite herself - despite her hatred and frustrated love for her brother, she won’t leave him, not after what happened with Mikael and Marcel. She sends updates on their misadventures, the litter of broken bodies they leave in their wake, and it seems to work, for a time, until late one autumn her missives stop. Elijah could blame the war and the broken lines of communication that strangle the country in its choke-hold, but he’s smart enough to read between the lines, and he knows what this means, what Klaus has done.

Over the next decade, he builds his resources, increases his network of contacts until he’s close to finding the location of the coffins that contain his family, but the re-emergence of their father sends Klaus scurrying back into the dark, and ultimately, they are lost to him.

\--

The next time he sees Klaus, he’s barely recognisable. His auburn hair is cropped close to his skull, ends jagged as if he'd hacked at them himself, and his cheeks are sallow, ungroomed. He looks like an animal, and as Elijah watches him rip the heart out of a man and devour it, he gets the impression that he believes himself to be one, too.

Something crucial is missing, he thinks, as he watches Klaus discard the body with a careless shove. Blood seeps into the moth-eaten carpet, stains his shirt and throat as he picks himself up from the floor and turns to face the door, yellow irises gleaming in the dark. He finds Elijah easily enough, and his smile is wide and sharp as he gestures towards the body.

“Enjoy the show, brother?”

\--

Elijah remembers Klaus as he once was: an artist who painted in blue, who crushed precious stones and metals alike to capture the piercing blue of a lover’s eye, the dusky cobalt that stained the heavens at dusk. A man who loved the world with a ferocity that could barely be contained.

Elijah would seek him out in the early hours of the evening and find him painting. Golden ringlets at the nape of his neck, smears of cerulean on his cheek, a smile would tease at his lips as he glanced up from the canvas and replied, “art, like love, cannot be rushed, brother.”

They've returned to New Orleans and Klaus has picked up his paints again, but the images are distorted, and no shades of blue remain in his palette. He paints with a fervour of a man obsessed, the strokes thick and jagged, the canvas spilling with emotion - but while his words are the same - “art cannot be rushed, brother” - it’s not spoken with passion, with love.

Over the years, the moments where Elijah sees the brother he remembers from their childhood grow fewer and farther between.


End file.
